


A Frosty Reception

by ganbarimaster



Series: Jinzula [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganbarimaster/pseuds/ganbarimaster
Summary: A short introduction to my original World of Warcraft character, Jinzula--a female ice troll, enslaved by humans from a young age.





	A Frosty Reception

For all appearances, Jinzula was prepared. They had known that this assassination was coming for several days now—it hardly came as a surprise considering the fact that her master, Baron Rosemont, had deeply and publically shamed his rival, Baron Wadsworth, with accusations of infidelity and incest (a heady cocktail by any means). The wine was flowing freely, and the Baron Rosemont had perhaps overindulged, but that was all it took. Over the past years and months their rivalry had been stepping up, from what had begun as fairly innocuous and quotidian games of one-upmanship at fêtes and garden parties, to becoming daring games of chance, competitions between their respective champions, and so on—and what had now grown into a cutthroat game of death. However, Rosemont wasn’t concerned in the slightest. Jinzula was his champion, and she had already bested Wadsworth’s own champions on countless occasions. The difference this time was that Wadsworth was so incensed that he had hired a goblin sapper. In truth, he had hoped to kill Rosemont’s champion—having long resented the fact that Rosemont had been using a _troll_ of all things to (successfully, no less) defend his house and honour. It didn’t matter that it was skilled, that he had dressed it up and taught it how to speak properly; it was always ever a troll. 

The trees surrounding the manor gently swayed and the hairs on her arms stood on end. Many years ago Jinzula wouldn’t have noticed the chill in the air at all, but becoming accustomed to the climate further south had softened her endurance against the cold. If she found a breeze like this intolerable, the chances of ever returning to her tribe and living comfortably were slim to none—what use is a Frostmane troll that shivers in the rain? The wind carried their barely stifled cackling, and a distant rustling gave away their position. The diminutive goblins themselves carried a dangerous combination of manic energy and remarkable cleverness. That, and enough explosives to level a small fortress. Already she could see that they had found their way past the guards and hounds. This spyglass had been crafted many months ago by Captain Pendleton Rosemont, the Baron’s older brother. It was a fine piece of equipment, bearing its maker’s mark—and he wouldn’t miss it much. Wadsworth must truly have been angry to hire such an unpredictable goblin unit. His decision to do so demonstrates that he is willing to risk the possibility of his peers discovering that he had hired goblins just to make a mark on Rosemont. Typically, he would send dark iron dwarves, gnomes and the like. Sappers would be a challenge, certainly. But nothing she couldn’t handle. And they _would_ be looking for her.

“Where is she? He said she would be here!” the one sputtered, indignantly.   
“I ain’t got a clue, pal. This was your idea, remember!”

This game had gone on long enough, and she had played her part. The assassins sent from the Wadsworth household were always capable enough, but they were never meant to be truly successful. These bizarre human games were just for show—posturing, boasting—illustrating what they _could_ be capable of. Rosemont had grown more and more confident in recent months, and had been granting Jinzula much more freedom than he had been in years past. She could still smell the moldy wine racking kits that sat empty in his cellar—her bones ache from sleepless nights on cold stone floors, her limbs yet feel the strain of his iron shackles—but the _fool_ believed that she could be trusted, that he had tamed her. Certainly, she could eke out some kind of existence here, sleeping in feathered beds and enjoying baths and prepared meals—but if this meant persevering the hot, soupy breath of Rosemont on her neck, and the feel of his clammy, meaty paws upon her person—then there really was no question. Yes, this was the perfect opportunity, and he had to know it was coming. Didn’t he? 

It seems not. As Jinzula pushed off downstream she thought she could hear him yelling her name—or at least his name for her, “Giselle”. A human name. The explosion shook the air, and the ringing of the alarm bells followed. _I am no human_.


End file.
